


By The Clock That's On The Tower, Or The One That's In My Brain

by Cowboy Dan (glitchkillgasm)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M, and logan is afraid of things, peter has self-esteem issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitchkillgasm/pseuds/Cowboy%20Dan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Met him in his thirties somewhere near what would have been his hundredth year if he'd been keeping track -- gunmetal grey down to his chin, suit formed directly to his cut and lean physique, the pictured form of a speedster with experience -- it fades every time that he speaks to him now, now that the timeline's been altered. Vaguely, he can recall memories of copper, how he wasn't fast enough, and how there must have been something that they could have done. Something he could have done. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ticking Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thequicksilver](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=thequicksilver), [LudicrousMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LudicrousMe/gifts).



> I was requested quite some time ago to post a slow burn that would consist of this trashy pairing, specifically back when Peter's still a teenager, though I've decided to make it somewhat of an AU. In this, Peter is learning how to better control his abilities at Xavier's, while Logan is staying there for the main reasoning of looking out for the well-being of the students. Logan is not technically considered an instructor, but he isn't opposed to training those that seek him out in attempts to become better at defending themselves. Logan knows Peter as his future self, but isn't allowed to say anything.
> 
> New chapters coming soon! My laptop decided to delete my progress..

Time plays all sorts of tricks on the mind, but it's not so often that people are allowed the opportunity to view its effects in reverse; for what appears to be a millisecond, Logan swears that he sees an entire box of pancakes mixed and cooked and then eaten, and somewhere in between he had found it in himself to dab a streak of batter along the bridge of his nose. Yet, he can't seem be bothered to clean the pile of dishes that's accumulated in the sink due to his breakfast, even though it'd take an ordinary person at least ten minutes. Lower back rested against the metal counter, he smiles, proud of himself for the inconvenience that Logan hastily wipes away with the back of his hand as a dismissal and nothing more, not entertaining the humor that's intended. Gunmetal eyebrow raises in question, there's no way that he didn't find that hilarious, but still, "Here." 

He flits over, paper towel in his hand while he raises up on his toes in the slightest, just so that he can go to try and fix it, get rid of the residue that's still there before he's being chased by another pissed off mutant with offensive powers that'd -- intense pressure is on his wrist and he jumps, pulse skyrocketing and his whole body vibrates with kinetic energy, begging to run. There is no explanation, only an animal-like growl underneath the older man's breath as he stares him down before releasing him with what appears to be apprehension, but he doesn't read too much into it, only keeps his mouth shut for the first time since he's been held at Xavier's while he walks away with heavy and long strides.

Peter doesn't follow him, he's been doing better at figuring out when he isn't wanted around. 

 


	2. With, Without

All of these things that have been erased, they still linger in Logan's psyche: his wife, how he can't remember her by name, their past or what was once there, or even that they were intertwined, but how he woke up and she was there, lifeless and still, one more to add to the masses of death that have followed him. What's worse is the ones that he _can_ recall, the ones that he has to fear are going to get repeated, and not even knowing if it's worse to change the course or not. He screams into the night, unrestrained and filled with pain, twisting into sheets that are damp with sweat, claws extended and shredding into the mattress with no mercy, the entire floor that he's on is disturbed. At the corner of the frame of the door is Peter, eyes squinted to make out the figure that's dimly illuminated within the room, surrounded by his peers while he struggles with things that none of them can see but they all wish they could help him with, older students ushering the younger ones from the scene. His birth name, foreign and gritting through Logan's lungs like it's hurting him, leaves a white hot flash over his spine and he freezes over. Low and disguised, but distinct to anybody that would know what to look for. Charles is able to soothe him using his telepathy and he sees him settle into the bed, a sheen of cool moisture on him as he pants out his tension, but the remnants of the fight are still vivid. 

It looms over him like the knowledge of when doomsday is to come, closing up his throat and he can't figure out why, what must be going on in his mind that would cause him to unmistakably call out. The professor appears unphased, face pulled into a lack of emotion that's brought on through years of seeing into these private thoughts, but he almost falters when Logan's nightmare reaches an apex. Dragged down to the ground with limitless gravity, he watches as Peter caves under the pressure, legs ultimately useless as he's reduced to his hands and knees, a weapon steadied over his back. His breathing stops right then, when dark eyes meet the ones that he's looking through, head yanked back by metallic roots, a display that's meant to instill fear and hopelessness. Piercing through his own ears, he hears him choke on thick vital fluid, a pained cry, impaled and left for dead while his body tries to heal at his accelerated rate, only to give out. A whirl of killing and rage ensues, and Charles has to block him out, reaching into Logan's conscience for what pleasantries he can find. 

A hint of normalcy in a life filled with sorrow; fingers lace themselves into those of another, light from the sun bleeding in through curtains, the scent of him at the nape of his neck, burying his face into the familiar hue of his messy hair -- it's private, and Charles respects it while sending Logan deeper into it, allowing for him to invest his sleep someplace that isn't harmful. He gives Peter little more than a glance, though he can tell that the boy is frightened and confused, he knows that these things must be kept from him at all costs. So, he does what any responsible telepath would do in that situation: he keeps his mouth shut. 

"Is he going to be okay?" he's quick to ask, eyebrows coming in together. 

"He'll be fine, just a flashback." the professor dismisses it all-together, closing the door behind himself and moving away from it, trying his very best not to make eye contact with Peter so that he doesn't give him any reason for worrying, "Logan has seen many things that you and I cannot understand, Peter, all that we can do is try to help him recover and understand that he's in a better place now than he was." 

Still not convinced, the teenager follows after the professor as he tries to flee, "He said my name -- my _real_ name." 

Turning himself around in his chair so that he's facing the young mutant, he looks him in the eyes as if he's telling the truth, "I can assure you that he did not." he knows that Erik is his father, that at least one of his timelines is doomed, and that Logan is harboring feelings for him that are difficult to describe, but he does his best to keep it on his shoulders, and his alone. Charles gives him a reassuring smile, "I would inform you if I saw anything about you in his nightmare." there is little conviction behind it, but he goes the opposite direction of Peter's room to give him the hint that the conversation is over, "Good night, Peter, try to get some sleep."


	3. Buried Alive

Focus falls in terms of notoriety; mind buzzing with a thousand thoughts and ideas, concepts that he can't hesitate on individually for too long or it'll drive him insane, it's enough to bring down the impact of his biological advances that are practically engineered to allow him to travel at such high speeds. Sight, hearing and perception of his surroundings are drowned out by the heavy load of input that's placed on him at once -- he sees, hears, _feels_ so much at any given time that it's hard to focus, bring his mind to one goal. Years will pass and he'll grow used to his accelerated rates of thought processing, but it's not knowing whether or not he's got the years to spare that has Logan pushing him harder and harder, training early and late to try and rid him of his flaws. Pewter locks partially pulled back and tied up, he comes to a stop in front of a hologram that's being projected, a hulking robot barreling towards him with unsturdy and heavy steps. He doesn't flinch, a smirk creeping up on the side of his lips as he charges, runs away from the target that he's meant to take down -- there's no reason for him to fight if he can get away, an observation that Logan makes from above as he watches on, unimpressed and unamused as the simulation plays out. If he knew how to utilize his strengths, there's no reason that he wouldn't be able to take down the sentinel in two seconds flat, but he chooses not to through inaction. 

"You're not taking this seriously." Logan rumbles, that semi-permanent scowl on his aged face when he steps up to Peter, having given up on controlling the danger room in hopes of getting a serious effort out of the boy long ago. Pushing his goggles into his hairline, Peter has the nerve to scoff, that cockiness that's going to get him killed if he doesn't keep it in check, "Listen, man, just because you're all into this 'fighting super villains' thing doesn't mean that I have to be," it races out like he's afraid he won't get the point across in time, "I'm good at other things, just not disarming a thirty-foot-tall speak and spell, okay?" 

Ultimately transparent when he's going to take off -- placing his goggles back over his eyes for protection, looking like he's bustling with energy that's **got** to be expended somehow, and it's the only case in which he shuts up -- Logan grabs him by his shoulder, firm and authoritative, and he makes sure not to let go. In his slowed down version of the world, he sees this but makes no attempt to move the older man's grip, taking just an instant to himself to try and figure out the meaning behind it. Coming to a halt, he pushes Logan's hand off of him, tipping his chin up and looking like he's ready to fight if it comes down to it, "What the hell was that?" it demands and explanation from a man that rarely gives them, just follows his instincts. 

"You've got to be joking," there is a visible smile threatening to take over his face at the thought, "You've never been in a fight before, have you, kid?" he asks, though it's entirely rhetorical due to its nature, knowing that no self-respecting person would ever admit to that -- especially someone as stubborn as Peter. A strong hand balls itself up in the front of his shirt and he pulls him in closer, the scent of him almost overpowering as he does -- how it's unlike the typical teenager, sugary and sweet, feverish and high-pitched -- nose picking up on undertones of hormones that he wishes to ignore, but can't. Temporarily he's psychologically incapacitated; the younger mutant's face displaying shock and confusion, but it isn't as if he's afraid for his life, it's like he's marveling up at him. Logan finds the willpower to push him away, letting him back down onto the flats of his feet from their previous height, a light chuckle leaving him, "We're gonna have to fix that." 


	4. I Lie and I'm Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are so short, just wanting to post what I get each day instead of hording it.

Over a century of training, it'd be no contest if Peter didn't have such extraordinary capabilities, if he could keep him from going at the speed of sound and avoiding it all, if any of his attacks were actually acknowledged. A fist is hurled forward with great strength behind it, aimed right at Peter's cheek, but he rushes out of the way before it can make any contact and moves so that he's positioned behind Logan. Index finger tapping tauntingly on his shoulder, he spins around to see his perfectly aligned teeth displayed through a grin, dimples forming beside laughing lines. Through his mild hysterics, he sees the light layer of slick sweat over his brow, how his chest rises and falls with each breath that he takes in almost an emphasized motion when he pays attention to it, all of his senses honing in on Peter. Almost in that instant, the older mutant feels the agitation, the pressure, that need that's inside of him that he can't bring himself to satisfy, the one he's expected to hold down inside of himself -- he realizes that he can't hold it down any longer. 

Logan grabs onto his bicep, grip digging into the soft flesh there, the lean muscle contrasting his own bulky physique as he leads him backwards with a push, demanding and not giving room for an argument. The teenager's eyes show off the shock that he's going through, being forced to step backwards while Logan practically marches him up against the wall of the danger room, keeping hold so that he doesn't have the opportunity to run. Light pink lips, full and looking like they're impossibly soft, open up and words fail to come through for a surprisingly long time for Maximoff -- it's got to be a record. "What are you doing?" it comes out hummingbird fast, just like the race of his pulse that exceeds that of the standard human. A warm and heavy body presses into his small frame, large hands easily seeking out his wrists and wrestling them to a position above his head, pinning them firmly to the metal behind him with minimal resistance, "You didn't run that time." Logan chuckles, deep in his chest. 

Peter feels his heart skip at that, mouth going to form a comeback but it falls flat and he can't seem to recover, but his non-responsiveness is taken as its own form of a reply. Leaning down, Logan takes in his scent, much more potent when he goes in for the neck, feels Peter accommodate him by tilting his head to the side and letting out a breathy noise that doesn't go unnoticed; he wants this, too. He feels his lithe body come off of the wall, just enough that his hips bump against him, tense hands relaxing as they're held down, a compliance that he hadn't expected. Voice hot in Peter's ear, he whispers, "I'm starting to think you don't _want_ to get away." his knee comes in between the teenager's thighs, a tease of sorts. 


	5. Unsteady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beep Boop, I'm not good at writing big chapters. Also: Hey, happy un-hiatus day.
> 
> I want to thank LudicrousMe along with all of the nice individuals that put comments on this and encouraged me to continue it even though it's been over half a year.

One of the secrets that Peter doesn't let get out is that he's self-conscious and anxious, enough so that he finds it nearly impossible to deal with his problems head-on. He's too young to know that it's visible to anybody that knows what to look for -- Logan's met thousands of people that run, just not as quickly. That, and the way that all of his cells seem to be buzzing rapidly with movement when his hand seeks out the hem of his shirt and slides smoothly underneath it, let Logan know that he's not been touched like this before. Surges of intense levels of hormones keep coming off of him in spikes and Logan, for the first time, encourages it and doesn't try to ignore it because they've already gone too far to stop. It's entirely instinctual, he knows what Peter likes from the farthest portion of his subconscious; rough fingers roaming over his pale stomach with nails leaving fine red streaks along the whiteness as they rake back down again.

Peter isn't able to give any input aside from the heft of his breathing, wrists not daring to lift themselves off of their designated areas above his head. The occasional choked back whine or gasp highlights the friction of their clothes when Peter pushes himself forward and grinds against Logan's thigh. His lips meet the delicate skin that protects the thrum of his pulse, teeth and tongue gliding up towards his ear so that he can use the very last of his self-restraint to offer a sort of warning. Logan's voice is deep with arousal when he asks lowly, a hint of a snarl, "If you want me to stop, you need to say something now, kid." it's necessary to ensure that he isn't pushing Peter's limits in a way that he's not comfortable with, even if stopping would mean that he'd be left hanging.

"Don't stop." it comes out in a fraction of a second, dark eyes swallowed by the dilation of his pupils as he almost squirms at the unexpected lack of contact between their two bodies. It's all that Logan needs, pushing the tips of his fingers into the elastic peeking out from under the shirt rucked up around his flat stomach, feeling the soft hair leading to the base of his cock. He lets go of his wrists in favor of dropping his other hand to the protruding bones of his hip, where he places his assertive grip with enough pressure that he knows it'll leave purple impressions, little reminders and marking of his territory. Logan has the ability to look at Peter now that he isn't so fixated on his scent, the smallest details and micro-expressions outwardly putting his desire on display; how his lips part with wanting and yearning, but he isn't sure if he's allowed to act on any of his impulses.

He kisses him like it's the last chance that either of them will get, because, for all they know, it just might be. All of it's the same, his scent, the texture of his lips against his own and the fervent impatience, and for a moment he has him back and they don't have to run. For a while it's home. A false sense of security is not one that Logan wishes to condone, nor is he one to peddle bullshit sentiment to himself in order to get some sort of twisted relief from the things that he's seen -- but this is genuine. He gets lost in him because it's the first time that he's felt somebody _come back_ , so he has to stop himself from getting too wrapped up in the emotions that he's feeling before it becomes strikingly obvious to Peter that there's something going on that he can't tell him, even if he wants to. 

 


	6. In My Head There Is A Greyhound Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you've been unproductive and you're excited to see the new Spiderman clap your hands.

_"Do you ever think about it?" he asks plainly, no real indication of what he's referring to, attention out on a skyline that's filled with nothing but the setting sun and the palette of colors that streak behind it in the atmosphere; there is peace here, a lifestyle of leaving it all behind for the sake of sanity, if only for the couple of weeks that it takes for the world to fall into chaos again. One of the issues with Peter is that his mind works so quickly that he forgets to elaborate, and often doesn't say much at all, even when he's thinking of things at rapid-fire most of the time. Logan's learned to compensate for it: "About what?" he asks, prompting him as he lifts the beer to his lips and takes a drink, an unsure amount of silence following it as Peter thinks over his phrasing. He doesn't look away from that stationary spot, out on the horizon and nowhere in particular, "That you're going to have to see me die." it's blunt and to the point, and it causes yet another lack of sound apart from the light breeze rustling leaves; Logan knows the answer, but isn't sure that he wants to have this conversation. On his aged features he sees a pain that gets disguised with a smile, one that's dismissing his own emotions as if they aren't valid, "I'm getting older, Logan. You're not." forces itself out of his lungs like thick smoke and he swears that he can see a stream go down the curve of his cheek. He chooses to ignore it, not wanting to rob Peter of any opportunity to hide his fears because he knows that he finds it embarrassing to cry in front of others._

_He was right._

                                                                                          "We should.."

Cuts away the cobwebs that clutter his brain, gathered on things that no longer matter, because if he focuses on it for too long he'll send himself into a dark place; He wants to erase it. With every inch of Peter's body he familiarized himself with, it fades into obscurity like the remaining radiation of a supernova drifting into an abyss. It feels as if he's going to choke on his words with how uncomfortable they are as they rest inside of his consciousness and form in his throat, too hefty to be held onto, but it's the ones that are held back that he wants to drown because of the temptation to speak them, "Slow down." he settles on the simple statement. 

Peter had tried to explain it many times, how he can't turn off his thoughts and that they're constantly going off to distant places and back again with no true control, how the world around him is painfully slow as it grinds on and how nobody can understand the agony of being fifty steps ahead of everyone else; darting hurriedly over his face to analyze what's changed his mind, Logan can see the uncertainty and concern, he's trying to figure out whether or not it's his fault. The man that doesn't _do_ intimacy, the one that keeps his emotions guarded at all costs, reaches up to hold Peter's face between both of his hands in order to ground him in the present, to drag him from those feelings of self-doubt that he recalls from crossed over time. Their bodies are still intertwined and pressed flush against one another -- the steady sign of life resonating in his sternum and heat coming off of his clothing -- it all teases Logan's heightened senses with every second that he's not actively scenting him, or indulging himself.

"It's not that I don't want to, trust me," he let's out a huff of breath to calm his nerves, the ones that he keeps at bay most of the time, "Christ, I want this, but I --"  Black eyes stare, confused, as he interjects, "You think I'm too young." Peter suggests, metallic eyebrow raising up just a notch and it doesn't take a genius to know that he's impatient and he wants the answer now, he wants to be able to convince him or face rejection as soon as possible. 

"I want to take things slowly." Logan corrects, a thumb lightly brushing over one of his cheek bones, that ever fascinating softness against his calloused and abused fingers, brought about by a lifestyle of hard living and tough situations, "That's all." 

Hormones don't want for him to stop, they remind him of the way that Peter's shirt is still pushed up just enough past his waistline that he can see the skin he wants to taste so badly, it reminds him of all of the things he wants and how they're within reach but it's not the right time. He's also mindful of how paranoia should be treated -- as just that -- and how he should not justify his hastiness through the fear of having to watch Peter die all over again. Still, he leans in, because he starts to see the evidence of Peter protesting before he can even think to do so, and he steals another selfish kiss for himself, if only to satisfy his hunger temporarily. 

And he forces himself to rely on the presumption that Peter will still be there. 

 


End file.
